


Completion

by Morgana



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M, Mindfuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-01
Updated: 2010-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-05 17:30:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgana/pseuds/Morgana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angelus wants to make Spike's soul complete</p>
            </blockquote>





	Completion

He'd been ridiculously easy to catch. On his way home from patrol, his demon purring from the violence, he'd never even seen the blow that dropped him like a stone. He'd woken up to find that his head was throbbing like a bitch in heat, his clothes had vanished, and a set of chains held him in place no matter how hard he pulled or twisted against them. But he could've dealt with all that- wasn't like he'd never ended up in similar positions before, both willingly and unwillingly.  
  
When his sire had stepped out of the shadows and smiled at him, Spike had braced for a beating. It wasn't until he saw the dark eyes slide down over his body that he realized he was in for a lot worse. Over the next few hours, he learned exactly how much worse it was, as he was first raped, then beaten, tortured, and raped again. But still he clung to two things: the knowledge that Angelus was still the same sadistic bastard he'd always been and the hope that Buffy would figure out what was going on before he got tired of playing around and just dusted him.  
  
He'd forgotten how dedicated his sire could be when he had a wrong to avenge, though. After two days had passed, he gave up on rescue and just started hoping for a stake.  
  


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Something slick and warm slid down his throat. Blood, he realized faintly, but not the usual pig's blood, or even human. No, this was sire's blood, sweet like honey with a strange bitter aftertaste he couldn't remember it ever having before. Was that the soul tainting it? Did he taste like that, like someone had put ashes in the very heart of his being?

“Spike, listen to me.” He wanted to laugh, wanted to spit in his face and demand to know when he'd ever done anything else, but somehow the words wouldn't come, so he just nodded. It seemed to satisfy Angelus, because a hand settled on his cheek, cupping his face almost gently. “You'll tell me the truth, won't you, boy?”

He nodded again, wondering why he even needed to ask. “Ssssire,” he slurred.

“Aye, that I am.” The old, familiar rhythm and accent entered his voice, and Spike felt a little bit more of himself fall away. If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend the last hundred years hadn't happened, and the temptation to lose himself in that thought was overpowering. “Are you still mine, then? Still my boy Will under all that leather and attitude?”

God, how was it that such a simple question could make him want to scream? And why couldn't he just tell the bastard to fuck off, tell him that 'his Will' had died long ago, when he'd walked out on them? Instead, he could only nod as a ragged sob burst free.

“Shhh, I know,” Angelus soothed him softly. “What d'you want, Will? What would make your soul complete, hmmm?” 

That was an easy one. “Love.” He'd wanted nothing else from the moment he'd become aware that it existed.

“Whose love, Will? Mine... or that sweet Slayer's of yours?”

His lips felt thick, like they didn't want to work, and he had to try several times to form words before he managed speech he could understand. “Both... al'ys wanted yours, never got it. She did, though...”

“I see,” Angelus commented softly. “Go back to sleep, Will.”

Spike wanted to ask what was going on, why his sire sounded amused and sad at the same time, but when a pair of lips brushed his and then more of the sweet bitterness filled his mouth, he could only swallow and slide back into the warm blackness that swirled around him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Angelus groaned, shifting restlessly on the bed. The tattoo on his shoulderblade danced as the muscles beneath flexed, the finely drawn lines proving irresistible. Spike leaned forward, tongue tracing the outline, lingering over the letter drawn in his sire's skin. He was immediately rewarded with a moan, the sound travelling down his spine to make his balls draw tight.

Sliding a hand down to position himself, he pushed, gasping when his dick popped through the tight ring and slipped inside. He'd barely been able to believe it when Angelus had first sucked him off and then moved onto his hands and knees, but he hadn't been about to argue! Not when he'd spent the last hundred years fantasizing about topping his sire. Especially when the reality was proving that his imagination wasn't nearly as good as he thought it was.

“More,” Angelus grunted, pushing back against him. He pressed forward, hissing at the way tight flesh parted, then wrapped around him in a stranglehold. Forget the Slayer- this was the tightest, smoothest, silkiest body he'd ever sunk his cock into. When he was finally as deep as he could go, he ground against his ass, then began a slow withdrawal that teased them both before he pushed back inside again.

Angelus moaned again, a strangled sound that could have been his name. He pushed back and Spike thrust forward to meet him, and then they were moving, bodies sliding against each other in perfect rhythm. Grunts and groans rose from both men, mingling with the slap of skin and wet sounds of fucking to form Spike's favorite music. “Christ, that's it! Jesus, so fucking good, pet!”

He tried to hold back, make it last, because there was almost certainly no way he was going to get to do this again anytime soon, but he was so fucking tight... His hands tightened on his sire's hips as he erupted in spurts of white-hot pleasure while Angelus shuddered against him and shot jet after jet of come into the sheets beneath them.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Heavy musk burst on his tongue, the purely male flavor making him groan softly. He lapped at the little pucker, still amazed that it had stretched enough to take his dick, then thrust his tongue forward again. A hand slid into his hair to hold him there even as Angelus squirmed on the sheets, body alternately trying to move away and then thrust back on Spike's tongue. He stiffened his tongue and fucked him hard for several strokes, one hand stealing down to squeeze his dick when it twitched in response to Angelus' moan.

Retreating, he cupped the heavy balls and rolled them in his palm just as he closed his mouth around his hole and sucked. There was something about eating out the sire he'd just fucked that was dirty and hot beyond his wildest fantasies - he didn't know if it was getting to taste him so intimately, cleaning his own come out of his body, or some combination of the two, but he was hard enough to cut glass, and so was Angelus. When he was satisfied that there was nothing more to take, he slid one finger and rubbed hard over the sweet spot. Angelus cried out and Spike pulled back to see his cock jerk, shooting streaks of pearly white all over his chest and stomach.

Spike took one last lick, then eased Angelus' legs down and started crawling up his body. Cleaning his sire's ass had been fun; cleaning up his front was going to be even better.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He'd expected to get fucked again - there really hadn't been any question about it after what had happened earlier. Domination being reestablished, and all that, but this was something else entirely. Instead of claws raking his skin open, there were hands that petted and stroked him. There was lube to ease the way instead of his own blood, and the slow push of Angelus inside him, claiming him in the sweetest of ways, rocking against him like the very best nights in Switzerland.

“Beautiful boy,” he purred, lips moving against Spike's jaw as though he sought to press the words into his very skin. “So tight, so perfect... always want you, need you... my sweet boy.”

Spike knew the words were false, knew it was all some kind of trick for some plan he wasn't aware of yet, but he couldn't stop the longing that had always been there from surging up. He'd give almost anything if he meant it, even a little bit... “Angelus,” he moaned, the word somehow managing to sound like both a hosannah and a prayer.

Thankfully his god seemed to hear, because he shifted his hips until he was hitting the spot inside with every slow stroke. He was coming apart, unravelling in his arms, but he couldn't be bothered to care, not when he was finally getting the one thing he'd always wanted. His sire was making love to him, really making love to him as though he mattered. “Will,” he muttered. “My Will, my boy... ahhhh God, that's it. Love you, need you, give me your throat, baby. Wanna taste you... ohhhh fuck, loveyouloveyouloveyouloveyou!”

Fangs sliced into his neck, and he felt Angelus shudder against him, the cock inside him pulsing like a heartbeat. Spike arched up under him, gasping out, “Sire!” and then he was coming as well, spiraling out of control into the welcoming arms of darkness.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He woke to find himself stretched out on the lid of his sarcophagus, cold air washing over bare skin instead of warm blankets and possessive hands. There was no sign of his sire, no trace of the hours he'd spent writhing beneath him on silk sheets. Had it all just been some twisted dream, then? “Great,” he muttered, disappointment rising up, filling his throat until he thought it might choke him.

The snick of a lighter sounded in the quiet crypt, and then a soft voice purred, “Awake so soon, boy?” Spike lifted his head to see Angelus moving about the room. Candles had been scattered around them, and his sire was lighting them, chasing the approaching gloom away with each flame that sprang to life.

He started to sit up, but managed to move no further than a scant half-inch before the chains around his wrists and ankles pulled tight. “Not gonna get away with it, whatever you're plannin',” he warned. “Only a matter of time before Red stuffs the soul right back inside an' you know it.” 

Angelus shook his head and turned around to give him a fond smile. “Still don't get it, do you, Will? I'm not going back.” He held up a hand to forestall the inevitable retort. “By the time the little witchling finds out what's happened, it'll be too late for her to do anything.”

“Wouldn't count her out, mate. Bint's got a helluva lot more power than the last time she shoved you back in your cage,” Spike spat. He tugged against the chains again, but they held fast.

His sire didn't reply immediately, just continued lighting candles until the crypt was aglow with them. He changed the lighter for a bowl and walked back over to Spike. “She's got power, I'll give her that,” he commented, dipping two fingers into the bowl. They were black with a thick goo when they reappeared. “But even her power has limits.”

When the fingers touched his skin, Spike hissed as the cold goo began to burn, almost like acid. “See, I have this... friend,” Angelus said evenly. “She works for a law firm in LA, and they've got all these different wizards at their disposal. And do you know what wizards have?”

Spike clenched his jaw and refused to answer, but silence had never stopped Angelus before. “They have spell books. All kinds of different spell books, with lots of different spells. That little witch of yours... she won't do black magic anymore, will she?” He finished painting the goo on Spike's chest, then wiped his fingers off with the discarded sheet. “She's gonna look for the soul in the ether. Just one little problem - it won't be there. It'll be tucked safe away, where nobody can ever get to it, and I'll be protected from any kind of magic that might try to keep me from enjoying myself.”

“Big talk,” he ground out. “How you reckon you're gonna get that kinda mojo goin' without owin' some seriously major dark powers?”

Angelus smiled, and Spike felt his stomach draw tight. There was no sweetness, no fondness to this smile- this was the same expression that countless victims had seen right before the monster of their nightmares turned them inside out. “Oh, I've got that all taken care of. I figure the darkest powers will be satisfied with the offer of a soul... especially a completely innocent, suffering soul that's recently known completion.”

Fear gripped him at the thought of his hard-won soul being wrested from him. He shook his head and said hoarsely, “Don't do this, mate. Not like this, not after -”

“After what we shared?” Angelus laughed softly. “Are you telling me you actually believed I loved you, boy?” He shook his head and set the bowl down. “Christ, you really are gullible.”

When he turned away to retrieve a heavy spell book, terror ignited, roaring through him like a forest fire. For the first time in a hundred years, Spike looked over at his sire and did something he'd once sworn never to do again: he begged. “Please, Angelus, don't... please don't do this to me! I wanted this, asked for it, fought for it an' to lose it like this... please, sire, don't take it from me.”

Angelus didn't bother to dignify his pleas with a reply, just began to chant. A black smoke began to swirl up from the bowl beside him, and Spike started to fight against the chains, panic taking hold at the sight of the churning blackness. Dimly, he could hear the chanting rise around him, but it was soon drowned out by screams. He wondered who was screaming like that, but then black claws tore into his chest and the world dissolved into pain and icy fire and a wrenching, ripping tug that seemed never to end...

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The golden girl was sad. She seemed to be sad a lot, but he hadn't seen her cry like this - at least, he didn't think he had. The pretty brunette cried a lot, and sometimes the redhead did as well, but the golden girl never shed a tear, just held his hand and sat next to him and looked sad. She'd been sitting with him earlier, when the older man called her upstairs, and he'd been thinking about trying to sneak a little extra TV time before he heard the shouting.

Most of the words were lost on him, but the rise and fall of angry voices made something in his stomach tighten up in an uncomfortable way. He didn't like loud voices, and while the girls seemed to understand it, the two men sometimes forgot. It was bad enough when the older man shouted, but when it was the dark one... he shuddered, shrinking back against the wall when he thought about the way his eyes had flashed when he'd argued with the golden girl. A loud thud from above sent him scurrying down to the floor, where he wedged himself between his cot and the wall, drawing his knees up to make himself as small as possible. Maybe if he couldn't find him, he'd be safe...

Eventually the argument had faded away, and that was when the golden girl came downstairs, tears streaking her face. “Shouldn't cry,” he said softly, reaching out to touch the shining drops that fell down her cheeks. She was too pretty to cry like this. He wondered what was making her so sad, but thought that asking might make her cry more, and he didn't want that.

She swallowed hard, then nodded and reached behind her back. “Close your eyes.”


End file.
